Those Left Behind
by Connan-l
Summary: [The House in Fata Morgana] Years after his brothers' deaths, Georges decides to go visit the family of the young woman who had supposedly lived at the cursed mansion with Michel. Why though, he is not sure himself.


**Notes:** I've always been a little disappointed that we know almost nothing about Giselle's family. I wish we'd been given a bit more information about them... I mean, we don't even know their names. If you named that bastard Amédée, you could've named Giselle's mom and sister too, Novec. I understand that they didn't have as much importance in the narrative as Michel's family, but I feel they still would've been great to flesh out Giselle's character even more. She _is_ the main heroine, after all.

But in any case, I wrote this because I've been curious about what must've become of them after Giselle took on the role of the Maid. The idea that her mother and sister spent the rest of their lives without ever knowing what truly happened to her is pretty sad…

It was also interesting to write Georges in the aftermath of Michel's death. I made him a lot more... mellow in it, which might seem a bit out of character, but I was thinking that it'd make sense, with him being older and having to deal with his brothers' deaths and his remorses.

There are brief mentions of the short stories _The Painting's Ramblings_ and _III. Boy Meets Girl_.

Also, this takes place in 1106, so Georges is fourty and it is two years before his own death, and six years after Michel's death.

Edit: I've been informed that Georges' sons actually do have official names! It is in the guidebook that unfortunately is only in Japanese, but it seems they are called "Séverin" (the eldest) and "Dieudonné" (the youngest). So I've udapted the text with, uh, well, their actual names.

**Content Warning: Discussion about grief and death. Vague allusions to Michel's past abuse, Giselle's sexual assaults and all the bad stuffs in general that took place in Door 7.**

* * *

The streets were pretty empty. There were a few middle-aged women here, some kids playing with a ball there, but otherwise, they seemed almost completely devoid of people. Devoid of sounds. Maybe it was because of the gray sky and the thick clouds that threatened to break down in a heavy rain at any seconds now. It certainly wasn't a beautiful day at all; not a day anyone'd choose to randomly stroll the capital's streets. Yet, Georges had felt the need to go out now — felt it _had _to be today, otherwise he'd never do it.

It was a day where he didn't have much to do, anyway. Although, if he was being honest... he had been relatively free since more than a decade already. He still had some work as a painter, of course, but this had diminished with the years, and albeit the fact he was still officially the head of the Bollinger family, it had been a long time since he had actually bothered himself with any business related to it. Instead it was his wife, the beautiful Aimée and her eternal smile, who took care of it — and she had done so ever since they got married about eighteen years ago now. It had been a gradual thing. At first, she would only bring him drinks and give him some advices here and there; then when things started to get too hard or frustrating for him, she'd told him to go sleep and to leave it to her; and before he even knew it, Aimée had the entire control of their family's affairs. Obviously Georges had been reluctant about this at the beginning — he had tried more than once to get things back in his hands, but every time Aimée would assure him that everything was perfectly fine, that she could absolutely handle all of that by herself. And, well, to say the truth... she _was _right.

Georges may not be the kingdom's brightest person, but he still could easily see how extremely intelligent and clever his wife was. Never had the Bollinger family been as rich and influent than now under her leadership. She was more than capable to be in charge of everything; be it finances, politics or otherwise — Georges would even say she seemed to have been born for that. She was infinitely more skilled and smart than he could ever hope to be — infinitely more than even his father or grandfather had been in her place before her. She had a gift to rule and manipulate people, and if he was being honest, it was a little scary. The only thing holding her back was her gender — and Georges could only imagine how much more terrifying she would have been had she been born a man.

So, after a while he ended up letting her do as she pleased — even if it wasn't actually to the taste of everyone. Although he was _technically _the face of the Bollinger household, nearly all of the nobility was aware of who was truly pulling the strings, and a lot of them didn't like that. That was only to be expected — a man leaving all of the truly important work to his wife was unthinkable, outrageous. People openly looked down on them sometimes. Georges couldn't even remember the number of inappropriate remarks Aimée had gotten, both subtly and unsubtly telling her she would be better off at home taking care of their children. But Aimée never seemed to mind it — she only smiled politely, and continued to do as usual as if nothing happened.

Georges didn't care much about the condescension either. He had never liked doing all of those boring and annoying family business — always thought Dee would have been a better head for the house, or hell, even Michel. He'd rather concentrate on his one true passion: painting. Which was exactly what he had done for the last twenty years or so. Even if truthfully, painting had actually taken a back seat in the order of his priorities since the birth of his two sons, Séverin and Dieudonné.

Georges had never imagined himself as a father. He always thought the task to be way too hard — here again, both of his brothers would've been much better dads than him. But the day his first boy was born, it had been as if his entire world had been turned upside down. Suddenly, all of his prime concerns became completely dedicated to his children's lives — about what was their needs, their education, their tastes and hobbies.

The day Dieudonné, only three years old, had excitedly showed him his first ever painting — an abstract landscape with all the colors of the rainbow — Georges didn't think he'd ever felt as happy and proud in his entire life, and he had actually started bawling right on the spot while his tiny son had just stared at him curiously.

The boys both had pretty differing personalities — the oldest, Séverin, was a tough adventurous little guy — he loved spending most of his time outside, with a soft spot for animals, and was an outstanding equestrian, despite being only seventeen. The other one, Dieudonné, was one year younger than his brother and had a more gentle personality — while he also loved playing outside, he had taken more after his father, being instead more interested in art. The two of them were pretty close — Georges had made sure that no matter what might happen between them, they always knew they had each other's back. Made sure that they don't make the same mistakes he had made with his own brothers.

In general he spent a lot of time with his kids — maybe it was, in a way, to really set him apart from his own father, who had always been extremely distant and too taken by work to allow himself a lot of time with his children. Aimée wasn't really fond of this, however — she had told him in mutiple occasions that she thought he spoiled them too much, that he was too easy on them — but Georges would honestly rather be close to his sons and "spoils them too much" than the opposite. Even if, lately, he had... some sort of tension with Sév. The boy had started to be quite rebellious and to spend more time with his mother rather than him. Georges wasn't very worried about this, though; he missed his son and the time where he had no difficulty getting along with him sometimes, yes, but he just thought it was something normal. Sév was a young man who was just on the cusp of adulthood, so there was nothing odd about him wanting to get away from his dad.

Georges sighed, his eyes surveying his surroundings. The more he walked through the shopping streets of Paris, the more the sky seemed to get grayer. He honestly worried that at this point it was going to rain soon. He hoped he'd be able to find what he was looking for before, though. Or rather, to find the people he was looking for. He was aware he actually had very little chance to find them — hell, for all he knew they could have moved out of the city a long time ago. From what he had heard, they did have money troubles, after all.

Still, he wanted to talk to them no matter what, so he continued to do his best searching by asking around, talking to all the shopkeepers he saw. He didn't have much chance, until he found an old man with a rough face and two small eyes as gray as the sky.

"Um, hi," Georges greeted him. "Is that okay if I ask you some questions?"

The man first eyed him strangely — probably because of his expansive-looking clothes, which wasn't really something the people here could afford. Georges grinned at him.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he continued. "But do you know if a merchant family lives around here?"

"You'll have to be a bit more precise, my good sir, 'cause that's kind of almost half the families from the area."

Right. It _was _a shopping street, after all, so of course. "Yeah, um. I think they used to be a family of three ladies: a mother and her two children. One of the daughters was named Giselle."

As soon as Georges pronounced that name, the man's eyes brightened. "Ahh! Are you talking 'bout Margot's daughter?"

"Uh... maybe?"

"That's the only family that fit I can think of. Margot's husband died from a plague almost thirty years ago now, so she raised her two girls alone. She never remarried. The youngest's name was indeed Giselle."

"Oh. Then that must be them, yeah."

"I remember her well, Giselle. A sweet girl, always peppy and smiling. A shame, what happened to her."

Georges raised an eyebrow. "May I ask what happened to her?"

"What? Ya don't know?" The man asked, then scratched his head. "Well, one day she started working for some noble's house and... disappeared. There was a lot of... unsavory rumors about her that spread around a while after that... To tell you the truth, it's a bit unclear what happened to her exactly... Some say she was killed, other that she ran away. In any case, she just never came back home."

As Georges had expected, the man didn't give him much more information than what he already knew, but he still thought it had been worth trying.

"Her mom and big sis live over there, two streets below in a small house," the man said while gesturing to the left. "It's just the two of them ever since Giselle's gone."

He crossed his arms and sighed. "The eldest was supposed to marry some rich guy at one point, but in the end the wedding was cancelled. They both loved each other, but she was just a poor merchant lass and didn't have enough money for the marriage to go through... and with the rumors about her sister... Sad story, really."

"I... see," Georges simply said, as he wasn't sure what to answer to that. "Well then, thanks. Good bye."

He waved at the man, then turned around and started walking again, following the instructions he had been given. He made his way through the city's streets, eyeing the rare passerbys and the modest houses with a kind of nostalgia. It had been a while since he had just strolled through Paris like that — especially since he had stopped taking as much work as before. And even then, the people who commissioned him were mostly just nobles or rich bourgeois, so he very rarely adventured himself in the poorer districts. This part of town was far from being the slums — but it was still a lot less wealthy than what he was usually accustomed to.

In fact, he thought that the last time he came around here was... that afternoon when he was still just a teen and where he had taken Michel outside dressed like a boy, without telling it to anyone, not even to Dee. Georges vividly remembered that day because of the heart attack he almost had when he lost Michel for a few hours. Now that he thought about it, that had been... probably the only time where Michel had went into the city like that, as their mother always refused to let him out of the house. The only other time he had been outside after that was for... going to that mansion. Even though there had been so many other things Georges had wished to show him...

But this peculiar trail of thought tended to send him spiralling into interminable sadness and self-hatred, so he decided to stop thinking about his brother altogether for now.

As he kept walking, the road became more and more narrow, until finally, he managed to reach a house that fitted the description he had been given. Just like the man had told him, it was a small, humble house — not old or decrepit or anything, but certainly far from being a wealthy residence. He thought it looked a little bit cramped to live here for what had initially been a family of four... even though they had only been two for a few years now.

Lost in thoughts, it took him some times to notice he wasn't actually alone here and that there was another presence not far.

A woman was on the porch. She seemed to be at least a decade younger than him — in her early thirties, probably. She had long, wavy black hair tied in a pony tail. She was currently extending the laundry on a small drying rack, plunging in and out of the basket in rhythmic, meticulous movements. Although Georges was only a few meters away from her, she didn't seem to have remarked him at all, being instead too focused on the wet clothes.

Georges watched her for a moment silently. He knew that he should try to talk to her... but he was hesitating.

The reason he was here in front of a strangers' house was because of something that had happened a few months ago. He was with Phil, helping him out with his studies, until he decided to go search an old mathematics book that was in his former father's room to teach his son something. After Antonin's death, Aimée had been the one to take care of his belongings, and she had almost thrown and given away everything. Her cold attitude regarding this had surprised Georges, as she had always seemed close to the head of the Bollinger family. He and Dee had still managed to save a few things, and since then Antonin's room have been left empty, pretty much abandonned. It was only used to stock some things from time to time.

When Georges entered in the dim and dusty bedroom, he started to tamper with his dad's things unceremoniously and inadvertently made an ancient stack of papers fell on the floor. All while swearing, he gathered the pages... and then one of them caught his eyes. It was... a sort of old official document, describing the firing of some maid who had worked for their family because of a mistake she had made. She had been exiled to a mansion to expiate said fault... This didn't interested Georges in the slightest, until he noticed which mansion this maid had been send off to.

It was the same place where Michel himself had been exiled.

A chill ran through Georges' back as he intently continued to read the document. The maid's name was Giselle, and she was a young woman who came from a relatively poor merchant family — unusual thing, as normally the maids working for their family were abigails who themselves came from pretty well-off households. Why would their family employ some run-of-the-mill town lady? There was something off about all of this, but as Georges kept reading, suddenly he remembered.

He didn't think he had ever actually met in person this woman, but he certainly had heard her name a few times before. It had been about seven years ago, maybe — some sort of scandal had blow up within their family. Their father apparently had an affair with a maid. This had been kind of a shock to Georges at the time — even if, retrospectively, it shouldn't have. His parents' relationship had degenerated more and more over the years, until they almost didn't even talk to each other — things having been made even worse with Lydie's illness eating away at her. Rumors of the maid having seduced the head of the Bollinger house while seeking his richesses and status spread around, and so the woman was quickly condemned for adultery — but then Antonin intervened. Instead, she was just sent into exile, at the same mansion were Michel lived — though, of course, that had been something their father ignored.

Georges recalled Dee panicked a little upon learning this, and in the end he told him he had secretly sent a letter to the young woman so that she'd take care of Michel as his servant. And then, none of them heard any more about it — that was, of course, until Antonin died, and that... Michel was sentenced to death. Which Georges only heard all about after everything had been settled. He had learnt about the letter Michel had sent to their mother, the assault on the mansion and finally his brother's death only afterwards.

He hadn't even been able to read that letter — the last letter his little brother had written — until a long, long time after Dee's death. Because everything... was just too painful. He still had it now; carefully folded in a small box in his room, that not even Aimée or his sons had the right to touch. And he had memorized every word drafted on it — Michel's determined claim of his identity, his demand of being accepted as such by them... and him announcing that he was in love with a woman.

He hadn't mentioned the name or any more detail about his beloved, but there was only one woman who Michel could have fallen for — the only other human being who had been sent in exile with him. So it wasn't a stretch to assume that this maid Giselle... had been the one he was talking about.

Georges now remembered the smile that had unconsciously sprout on his face upon reading this, and then the overwhelming sorrow that had followed. His little bro being in love should have been something special; something worth celebrating — and in normal circumstances, Georges would have definitely spent days teasing Michel about it and would have done and said things pretty embarrassing to him. But when he finally read that letter, Michel had already been dead since a long time ago. So instead the only emotions left in him were sadness and guilt. His thoughts then had been full of conflicted feelings and mostly about his brothers, thus that maid had completely faded from Georges' grieving mind.

He didn't think Dee said anything about a woman when he attacked the old mansion with the other knights. He didn't say much about anything, actually — which, given how Georges kept hurling insults at him and practically jumped at his throat, wasn't surprising. But, then...

What had happened to her? Did she ran away somehow? Did she came back home, to the capital? Or did she die there in the mansion with Michel?

For some reason, these questions wouldn't leave Georges' mind. He kept obsessing over this woman — his brother's lover, the last person who had been at his side before his death. So, he decided to make some research about her. He asked the old servants of the house, and when he questioned the head maid who had served them for about ten years now, she grimaced. Manifestly, this wasn't a story she looked back on fondly. Still, she told him what she recalled of this Giselle — about how she was an upbeat and hardworker person, albeit being inexperienced and a bit clumsy. She didn't know what happened to her after her departure, but in any case, it seemed she never came back to Paris. She mentioned that her family kept harrassing the Bollinger house for months afterwards, wanting to know what had happened to Giselle, and they were only given the explanation that she had been exiled for a mistake she made. Although Antonin kept sending some money to her family even after her exile — maybe out of guilt. But they ended up refusing and cut off all ties to the Bollingers, so he still stopped shortly after.

In other words, there was no concrete answers to what had happened to her. It was as if... she had just vanished. Stopped existing. It was kind of a scary thought. But the more Georges learnt about her, the more he wanted to know. He didn't know why exactly he was drawn to her like that. Maybe it was because... he felt that if he could know more about this woman, maybe he could know more about Michel. Maybe he could know more about the life of the brother he neglected for more than ten years.

A part of him thought that he shouldn't do that. That he didn't even had that right.

_You abandonned him. You did that to him. _

But his curiosity was stronger than that.

And it was how, in this ugly day, he had decided to survey the shopping streets of Paris in search of this mysterious young woman's family. However, he hadn't been able to find much about them; only that they were composed of her mother and older sister, and that they were merchants.

Now, against all odds, he had _actually_ managed to do it. He had been able to find the house of his brother's beloved. And now, what? What was he supposed to do? Talk to the woman on the porch? How? To be honest, he hadn't actually thought that far ahead. He started thinking this had been a bad idea, that he should get back home — but at this moment, the lady raised her head.

As she did, two bright, beautiful jade eyes pierced him.

"Hello?" She said hesitantly.

She was obviously very perplexed by this unknown man who had been staring at her from afar quietly. The last thing Georges wanted was for her to think he was a creep, so he hurried to grin in the most friendly way he could.

"Uh, hi!" He greeted her while scratching his head. "Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I'm Georges."

The woman — who he guessed was probably Giselle's big sister — cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Okay...?"

"Uh, right. Don't worry, I'm not a bad guy or anything."

"Sounds like something a bad guy would say," she replied without missing a beat.

"I-I'm really not! I just wanted to know... are you, uh, the daughter of a merchant lady named Margot...?"

She still looked intensely dubious and on the fence, but nodded despite it. "Yeah, Margot's my mother's name. What is this all about, _Georges?_"

"Well... uh..."

Georges sighed. What was that all about? That was a good question. To be honest, he wasn't sure himself. What did he expect to see, coming here? What did he expect to learn? Did he think knowing more about that maid would... give him some closure regarding Michel? Regarding Dee? After all these years, all these mistakes?

How ridiculous. Then again, him being an idiot wasn't something new.

The woman's frown in front of him deepened the more he stayed silent, so he finally started talking again while giving her an awkward smile. "I, um... it's gonna sound a bit weird, maybe, but... I am here because I wanted... needed to know more about someone. Someone... you used to know."

After hearing this, her expression kind of softened and she looked a little less hostile — instead, there was a clear curiosity and surprise shining in her green eyes. She was a really beautiful lady. Georges wondered how much her sister had looked like her. Did she have black hair too? The same pretty emerald eyes? Unfortunately, he doubted he would ever be able to answer these questions.

"Someone I knew?"

"About... seven years ago, I think, there was a young woman who worked as a maid where I live," he continued. "Her name was Giselle."

This time again, the woman's expression changed. But it was a way more radical change — her entire body tensed up visibly, her face lost its colors and her eyes widened.

"How do you know my sister's name?" She exclaimed.

"So she really was your little sister?"

"Of course she was! Th-That's not the point, how do you— Oh, wait... you said she worked as a maid to your place... No way... could it be you're from the _Bollinger family?_"

She almost spat the name with disgust, and Georges felt a disagreeable feeling engulf him. She was clearly angry — and so for a moment, he thought about denying it. Denying his identity, throwing away his name, running away from this angry, hurt woman who glared at him, getting as far away as he could from Aimée, from his house full of bad memories, from his dead brothers, from the guilt and the self-hatred, from his entire past and life as Georges Bollinger—

But as he continued to stare at the person in front of him, he felt as if her jade eyes pinned him on the spot and gave him no escape.

"I... am," he finally admitted.

It was obvious Giselle's sister already knew the answer before he even said it, but her face still contorted in cold rage.

"I have nothing to say to you," she said in such an icy tone that it sent shivers in Georges' back. "Go away."

She turned around, highlighting her message, and while Georges maybe kind of understood her reaction, he just... couldn't let it end at that.

"W-Wait a minute, please!" He said, grabbing her arm, but the woman brusquely released herself from his grip and glared at him once again.

"Don't you dare to touch me! I don't have to spare a single second for you."

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch you," Georges apologized, and he meant it — he always had a tendency to act before thinking. "I just— I just want to talk with you. I won't take a lot of your time, I promise, just a few minutes—"

"Do you not understand what "no" means? I'm a busy woman, and I don't want to associate with you or your family in any shape or form anymore. So scram!"

"I... understand that... But please, at least hear me out first."

The woman's face became red with rage. Her eyes were not only angry now, they were outright _hateful_, and Georges honestly thought she was going to slap him. It wouldn't have been the first time he got slapped. Or punched. Albeit generally, Dee always interfered before things get too bad, even if he really didn't want to.

Dee wasn't here to save his ass anymore, though.

"I can't believe the gall you have!" She screamed. "Do you realize what you're asking me? You said you weren't a "bad guy," but you randomly show up at my house, want to force me to talk about my sister who disappeared years ago, and for whose disappearance your family is directly responsible! The Bollinger family is the one who took Giselle away from us, so if anything, _you _should tell us about her! So no, you have no right to ask anything from me, or even to put a single foot into our house!"

Georges felt frozen in place. Her words resonated in his mind, stuck in his brain. None of them were wrong, he knew that. They certainly were the ones who had exiled that maid because of a "mistake," and then made her "disappear" because Michel became inconvenient to them. Although her sister probably didn't know the last part, it wasn't wrong of her to assume the Bollingers were the cause of Giselle's misfortune...

"Clémence? Is everything all right?"

Suddenly, a voice called out from inside the house. Giselle's sister — "Clémence," it seemed — winced, then turned around to exclaim: "Yeah, it's fine, Mom! Don't worry!"

She then sighed, glared once more at Georges, and started talking again, this time in a quieter tone in order to not alarm her mother inside. "Now leave. Mom's old and she has a poor health, so the last thing I want is for some fool to stress her out."

Georges stared at her silently. He knew he should listen to her, that he should go. He knew that his family had irremediably hurt these people. That because of them that person had lost a sister. The words of the man he had met earlier came back to his mind, and he realized that she had also probably lost her fiancé too because of all of this. So he was aware that even if he never _actually _hurt them directly, or never even _intended _to hurt this woman or her family — the only fact of him being involved with the Bollinger house made him guilty by association.

But, even so...

"I'm sorry," he said.

Clémence blinked, incredulous. "What?"

"I'm sorry... for what my family did to you. For what... we did to your sister."

"And you think some half-assed apologies will make _anything_ better?"

He chuckled lightly. "No, of course not... I know I can't do much to repair the wrong that has been done to you... I can't give you back your sister... but I... still wanted to apologize."

He paused. He didn't really know what he was saying, honestly; he just tried to bare his heart to her as much as he could.

"I had... a younger sibling too. And I made... a lot of mistakes, and did a lot of hurtful things to him... but I was never able to apologize to him for that..." He swallowed loudly. "Nor will I ever be able to."

Clémence looked at him. She was still wary and angry, but looked a bit calmer now.

"So... I'm not saying you have to forgive me or my family... I wasn't expecting it. I just... wanted to apologize. Sincerely."

She kept staring at him in the eyes, her expression unreadable. The cowardly part of me him wanted to look away, but he couldn't bring himself to. It would have felt... rude. Then finally, after some time, Clémence sighed and ran a hand in her black hair.

"They didn't even told us anything."

"Huh...?"

"When Gigi... got exiled. No one came to tell us anything." She snorted. "I guess some lowly merchants like us don't even register in rich nobles' minds, so why would they even bother?"

The resentment in her voice was palpable — and it hurts. She obviously didn't seem to want to tell him all of that, but she kept on talking anyway.

"When she began to work there, we already barely heard from her at all. But she was supposed to come see us during winter towards the end of the year. So when she didn't show up... we got really worried. I came all on my own at your house, and I almost had to fight for anyone to give me any answers as to what happened... and then finally a servant came to me. And you know what he told me?"

Georges didn't, but he could easily guess. Because he had heard all of the rumors that had been propagated about Giselle back then, even if he had paid no mind to it.

"That my sister was a "greedy whore" who "seduced" the head of the family. That she had been "rightly punished" and sent away in a place far away to atone for her "sins"."

She glared at him yet again so fiercely it was as if she was looking at that servant who had told her those things.

"What a load of bullshit! Gigi would have never done something like that. She was such a stupid airhead, never on earth she would've been able to "seduce" anyone! And the guy was going on and on about how he couldn't even tell me where she had been sent, or how I should just be happy that she was even alive at all!"

She was starting to get very worked up, and realizing this, she stopped for a moment, plunged her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

"Mom and I couldn't just leave it at that, though. So we kept coming there every time we could, asking for more answers. But every time we were just met by the same rubbish. Until one day..." Her voice trailed. "One day, about a year later, another guy came to me saying that, apparently, my sister had just... disappeared from the place she had been sent. That she would never come back anymore."

She laughed out loud. "Ridiculous, right? They were the ones who exiled Gigi, and yet they had lost trace of her somehow? They had— _lost _her? Don't make me laugh!"

Georges recalled the head maid mentioning something like that to him. However, he himself had never heard about merchant women going to visit the household frequently before... Though he guessed that maybe Aimée knew, and that she had just judged it unimportant to tell him, as she so often did...

"Do you know what it's like?" Clémence asked bitterly. "To have a sister who just… just suddenly disappear? Not dead, not runaway, just… disappear. Gone. Without any explanation."

He felt his throat tighten even more. He had the reflex to want to reply he _knew_, actually — that he knew what it was like to lose a sibling. To have a younger brother disappear on him — and an older one too. But he also knew that his situation and Clémence's were radically different, and he had no right to compare his to hers.

She never actually let her little sister rot locked up in a room for two whole years. She never exiled her all alone in a mansion and then just forgets about her for a decade.

She never indirectly _(killed her) _caused her death.

"I've always known Gigi shouldn't have gone work there."

"What?"

"To your _freaking _household. I knew there was something shady about it. I just _felt_ it," she said. "I mean, who would propose a job as an abigail to some poor merchant's daughter? It never made sense. Mom and I were against it at first. But Gigi, she… she was so enthusiastic about it. She kept repeating that it was an 'once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.' That 'with the money she'll make there, she'll solve all of our problems'…"

She snorted. "'Solve all of our problems,' my ass. She was such an idiot…"

Clémence sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Despite her harsh words, there was no anger in them, only… sadness. Maybe a bit of resentment, but it was decidedly not aimed at her sister.

In fact, she seemed almost about to cry.

"So, yeah," she continued. "If you ask me if I forgive you, then no, I don't. And I don't care much about your apologies, either. You can keep them."

Georges looked at her sadly. He had already guessed as much already. He realized now that this attempt at genuine apology had problably come off as incredibly self-centered from her persepctive, even though it had never been his intention at all. Georges always ended up hurting others without meaning to, even now that he was a middle-aged man, it seemed...

"Clém, what on earth is taking you so long? Oh..."

Finally, another woman appeared on the porch — the mother, Margot, Georges guessed. She was a small, plump lady who was clearly a lot older; her round face smeared with wrinkles and the few black locks that escaped from under her headscarf had some obvious silver streaks, but otherwise her eyes were of the exact same beautiful jade shade as her daughter's.

Clémence bit her lower lip and looked annoyed — she manifestly had not wished for her mother to see Georges.

"Oh my... Who is this man, Clém?"

"No one. Just some lost guy. He was going to leave," she said, while glaring at Georges and making him very much understand that his presence was not wanted anymore. "Right now."

And Georges had no intention to protest anymore. He didn't know if he had gotten what he wanted. Probably not. But he felt like if he stayed any longer, it would only add salt to the wound. However, just as he was about to turn around, a hand grabbed his arm.

"Wait a minute, please," Margot said, at the surprise of both Georges and her daughter. "I cannot just let you leave like that... Who are you?"

Georges felt stuck. He threw a desperate look at Clémence, who instantly put a gentle hand on her mother's shoulder.

"I told you, Mom, it's no one. He was just lost."

"Clémence, please. I may not be all that young anymore, but I am not senile either. You've been talking with this man for a moment now, so he can't just be someone asking for his way."

Clémence sighed, understanding that she wouldn't be able to get her way out of this. The older woman looked at Georges and smiled sweetly — and she looked so adorable and charming that he was sure she was the kind of person who could win anyone's trust.

"I'm sorry if my daughter said anything rude to you, she tends to have a bad character with strangers."

"Mom!" Clémence exclaimed, offended, but her mother paid her no mind.

"My name is Margot," she continued in a warm voice. "And you are?"

"I..." Georges looked over at Clémence, as if he was waiting for some kind of permission. But she said nothing, only looking away in annoyance, so he had no other choice. "I am Georges Bollinger."

Margot didn't seem surprised or upset at all upon hearing his name. Maybe she had already overheard them talking before — which wouldn't be surprising given how loud they had argued up until now. But he was still nonplussed that not even her friendly smile seemed unfazed — it was especially jarring considering Clémence's extremely hostile attitude.

"Oh my, is that so," she simply said instead. "I am honored to receive the visit of such a noble person. That is very unusual."

Georges grinned back at her, as her smile was contagious, but in a more reserved way. He wondered if maybe she was being sarcastic, but there didn't seem to have any trace of bad faith in her words.

"So what could bring you here, Lord Bollinger?"

"That's, um..." Yet again, Georges looked at Clémence for some assistance on how to answer, but the woman seemed utterly determined to not helping him out at all.

"I was... I just wanted... to know a bit more about... one of the maids that worked for us some years ago..."

Finally, Margot's smile slipped away from her face and a more complicated expression formed in its stead.

"About Giselle...?"

Her face was painful to look at. She didn't seem... sad, per se. More like wistful. Nostalgic. But something in her green eyes was just _hard _to watch — it was the eyes of someone who had an old, horrible wound that had just been slowly reopened.

The eyes of a parent who had lost their child and tried to come to term with it, he realized.

This made Georges suddenly think about his boys. About Sév who loved animals so much and spent most of his time riding his favorite horse. About his little Dieudonné whose pale blue eyes shined like jewels whenever his dad would teach him about a new painting technique.

What if, one day… one of them were to get snatched away from him? If one of them were to die, or to just… _disappear_, like this young woman Giselle? To just vanish without any explanation?

The pain he felt at the idea was indescribable. If something like that were to truly happen, he didn't think he'd be able to bear it. He loved his kids way too much — the simple fact of imagining them _hurt _was a sickening thought to him.

Never on earth would he be able to understand the awful way his parents had treated Michel.

Of course he didn't understand it before either, but now that he was a parent himself, it was even less comprehensible. Yes, there were times where his kids could be annoying brats or act like true little demons, but even then Georges never had the impulse to do anything to cause them pain. How come someone could even imagine wanting to hurt their own child — want to _kill _them — was beyond him.

And he didn't think anything could change that. Even if one of his sons were to suddenly tell him he wasn't a boy, or that they were to do something truly atrocious like murder a person. He just couldn't imagine stop loving them.

(Though, then again… he _did _hurt both of his brothers, even though he had never meant to…)

And yet, this was something that had happened to this woman. Seven years ago, her child had been snatched away from her without she had a say in the matter, and she didn't even know _what _had happened to her. If she was even still alive or dead. The more he looked at her, the more he felt an overwhelming guilt opress him, and the more he felt angry at his father. At himself, too, for never even having heard or dared to learn about this whole ordeal concerning that maid.

Margot's face was hard to look at for all sorts of reasons — but on the other hand, she didn't seem to have any troubles looking at him, as she kept on staring straight into his eyes with an odd persistence — as if she was trying to see something in there Georges didn't know existed. After some time, though, she turned around towards her daughter and smiled gently at her.

"Clémence, honey," she said in a sweet voice. "Could you please give us some moments alone? I'd like to talk a little with Lord Bollinger."

"What?" Clémence almost screamed, her eyes as wide as saucers. "Why would you talk to _him__?"_

"Well, he said he wanted to learn more about Gigi, so I want to tell him about her," her mother answered innocently.

"Mom! He is from the Bollinger family!"

"I am aware."

"And you— you...!"

Georges thought for a minute Clémence was going to punch a wall in frustration — but instead, she just stomped her feet on the floor.

"Sure! Why not! Go talk to the asshole rich boy, whatever!" She yelled, before going inside her house and slamming the door behind her.

"Um," Georges muttered, uncomfortable. "I, uh..."

Margot turned toward Georges and smiled again. "I promise you she is not always like that. Usually she is a very sweet and bright lady, but she tends to get a bit defensive when her sister is concerned."

"I... I see..."

"Now, Lord Bollinger... Would you mind taking a little walk with me?"

Margot extended her hand towards Georges, all while smiling lovingly. Despite feeling a bit awkward and guilty, he still accepted it and offered her his arm.

* * *

"Over here."

While elegantly holding his arm, Margot walked in a slow, tranquil pace, her steps soft but firm, and she brought Georges a few streets away from her house. They arrived at a large, clear square, where a small fountain flowed in the middle. It was a pretty ordinary, modest spot, and yet there was a kind of charming, cozy aura to it.

"I used to bring the girls here often when they were children," Margot continued. "I would sat on this bench, and watch them play around the fountain. They always ended up completely soaked at the end of the day!" She laughed softly. "And oh dear, there was even that one time where Clém completely pushed her sister into the basin. Gigi sulked and didn't talk to her for two weeks. It sure was something."

Georges didn't know what to say as the older woman reminisced the past, so he just silently listened to her. She went to sit on the bench she was talking about, and he imitated her.

"Tell me, Lord Bollinger..."

"You can just call me Georges," he instantly told her. He had never liked formality, even less being called "Lord."

Margot smiled. "All right then, Georges. Tell me... Do you have children?"

"Ah... yes, I do. I have two sons. Though... they're soon gonna be grown adults in very little time."

"Is that so... I've always thought being a parent was such a strange experience," Margot mused. "It makes your world suddenly revolve all around these tiny human beings. It's wonderful, but at the same time it can give you so much worry..."

Georges could absolutely relate to this. Becoming a father hadn't really changed his personality per say, but it had certainly shifted his entire life... For a moment, Margot stayed quiet, her gaze fixated on the small fountain. It seemed as if she was lost in her memories, when her daughters were still only young children, he supposed.

"When Hugues... my husband died, at first it was as if the entire world had died with him."

Her voice was suddenly at lot softer. She was almost whispering, but thankfully there was no other noise around and they were the only two people here, so Georges had no problem hearing her.

"My parents died when I was a teenager, and Hugues didn't have any family either, so after he passed away, there was only me. It's funny how when he was by my side, I had almost no anxiety at all as a mother, but as soon as I was left alone, it didn't feel like I'd be able to be a parent anymore. These girls were so young — only six and three years old — so how was I supposed to raise them on my own? How could I feed them and give them a roof over their heads? How could I protect these little girls against this world? It didn't seem feasible. But..."

She took a deep breath. "But then, I still remember it so vividly — that day Hugues died, I turned around and looked at them, and they were both here, standing and holding hands and watching me, and then I understood I wasn't actually alone. I was all they had now too, so I couldn't fail them. I had to manage something, somehow. So I worked as hard as I could, just so they could have a future. So they could live the life they wanted as best as they could."

Her gaze fell on her knees. Georges could only imagined how hard it must have been for a single mother to raise her two daughters alone. As someone who had been born into a rich and noble family and had been blessed his entire life, her situation seemed so far away from his own.

"But at some point, you know, these little girls started to grow up... and I had to realize and accept that it is impossible for me to protect them against everything. That I had to let go of them. This is something every parent have to do, right? It is normal. But even so..."

She swallowed. "Even so, it kills me to know I wasn't able to protect my own child. When I realized I would never see Giselle again... I felt like I had to go through what I lived with Hugues' death once more, but a lot worse. Because this time... it was this person I had raised on my own, that depended so much on me, that I had failed. It is so painful to come to term with the fact... that I wasn't able... to give her that happy life I so wanted her to have..."

Georges looked away, towards the fountain — which was a lot less harder to contemplate than the bereaved woman next to him. He couldn't do or say anything to console her, after all. He never even met the child she had lost. Didn't even knew about her until...

Suddenly, the letter Michel had sent to their mother just before his mansion was raided by the knigts came back to his mind. The last letter his brother had written. Georges still remembered the kind serenity that had emanated from it. Michel's writing had seemed as if... he was at peace with himself. A bit anxious, maybe. But nonetheless determined, sure of his own self, hopeful about his future. Of course, Georges hadn't been able to see him in person so he couldn't really confirm it, but while reading his words... he felt it was the first time he had felt his brother as open and comfortable with himself. And the principal change for that was probably...

The woman he loved he mentioned in the letter. Georges was only making assumptions here, of course; he couldn't assert all of this with certainty — hell, he couldn't even assert that the woman his brother mentioned loving was Giselle. But... it was what made the more sense, and what his heart was telling him too.

He looked over at Margot once again. She was still staring at the fountain, her eyes unfocused. He thought... that if her daughter had truly been Michel's lover before his death... then that it was something that he should tell her. Michel and everything surrounding him had become a taboo no one should mention in his house, and Aimée certainly wouldn't approve of him talking about it. He could still remember the stern talk she had given him when he had started talking to his sons about their late uncles in her presence. But Margot deserved to know — and honestly, at this very moment, he considered this older woman as a lot more important than his wife.

"Margot," he called her softly. "I need to confess something to you."

The woman raised her head and looked at him curiously. "Yes?"

"I... I had a brother," he began. "Heh, heh, well, I had two, actually. An older brother, and a little brother a lot younger than me. We were... kinda close, the three of us." His throat felt tight — but he still forced the words out of his mouth. "But, um... my little bro — Michel, his name was Michel — he was, uh... a bit special. Our parents didn't like that, and so because of this, when he was sixteen, we had to... send him away in a mansion."

Margot looked at him intently. She probably wondered why he was telling her all of this, and Georges couldn't really blame her for being perplexed.

"He lived here in exile for... about ten years," Georges continued.

"For ten years? All alone?" Margot inquired, a manifest concern in her voice.

"Yes," Georges admitted. "Well, that was, until seven years ago... when your daughter, Giselle, was also sent there."

"Ah... I see..." Margot brought a hand to her mouth. "So she had been sent to a mansion... They always refused to tell us where she was..."

"They... lived about a year together in that mansion. And... after our father's death, Michel sent us a letter... saying he wished to come back home. And that he..." Georges looked straight into Margot's eyes. "That he wanted to go home with his lover... a woman he had fell in love with."

Margot gasped upon hearing this, and her eyes widened. "Oh dear... You don't mean..."

"He never mentioned the woman's name, but... I do believe he was talking about your daughter, yes..." He stopped for a moment, hesitating, and after remebering the letter he finally added:

"And I do believe... he loved her dearly."

Maybe it was a bit presumptuous to say this as he had never seen the two of them with his own two eyes... but it was just his gut feeling. Margot didn't reply anything, she just stared at him with wide astonished eyes... and as much as he dreaded this, Georges choose to continue talking.

"However... like I said, Michel was... a bit different. Our mother considered him to be... an hindrance... so instead of accepting their return at the capital, they... we..."

Georges paused a moment, then took a deep breath.

"It was decided to send knights at the mansion to execute Michel."

This admission of the truth still hurts, even after all these years. Georges didn't think it'll ever stop hurting. He could be on his deathbed and still feel his heart ache whenever thinking about this.

Of course, he left Michel's gender issues out of the picture — he felt it would be rude to his brother to talk about it without his permission, and it wasn't a very important detail to mention in this very moment. He also choose to left out Dee's involvement in this — how he had actually been the one to kill Michel — for the same reason.

"I don't know... what happened to Giselle after that," Georges admitted. "According to... the knights who were there, they didn't find any women in the mansion... So maybe she escaped... but it seems more likely that she's also..."

He couldn't bring himself to end his sentence. Margot stayed a moment in silence. Georges wondered if maybe he shouldn't have said that after all, that maybe he had made her pain only worse...

Until he heard a soft laugh.

"Oh... Oh my, I see! So even in this situation... she still managed to find love..." She laughed again, but this time he heard a small hiccup at the same time. "Thank goodness!"

Georges felt lost. He was expecting her to be devastated at those news, but... instead, she seemed... relieved.

"Thank goodness...?" He repeated.

"I always..." Margot sniffled, some tears shining in the corner of her wrinkled eyes. "I always worried about what must've happened to Giselle after she was sent away from the Bollinger house... Wondering if she spent the rest of her life in pain... if she was being mistreated in some way... if she died all alone and miserable..."

She looked up at Georges. Despite the tears in her eyes, she was smiling.

"But you just told me she had a lover, right? If she was able to fall in love with someone, then that mean that even if she went through some hardships... she was still able to find joy. She was still able to find peace and be happy. This is..."

Margot closed her eyes, and brought her hands to her chest.

"This is a lot more than I could've asked for..."

Georges could sort of understand why she reacted this way. It must've indeed be a relief to learn that at least her daughter had been in love and happy at some point. But still, to him... something about this felt off. He didn't comprehend how she could still see all of this in such a positive light. He didn't comprehend why she seemed to have such a good time talking with him... despite him having indirectly caused so much damage to her and her family.

"I… don't understand," Georges admitted. "Are you not... angry at me? I just told you that Giselle... had likely been killed because of our family problems... and I am… I mean, I am from the Bollinger household…"

_I am one of the people who took your daughter away from you_, is what he didn't have the courage to say out loud.

Margot looked at him and smiled sadly. There was a natural, genuine kindness in her eyes, something so gentle that it could melt his heart.

He felt like crying.

"I do not have the energy to be angry anymore," she simply answered. "Clém is angry; this is how she copes. I don't know if one day she'll stop being angry. But to me, anger would accomplish nothing. I am still hurt, of course. I am still so sorry about what happened to Giselle... and about what happened to your brother, too... I still miss my little girl every day. But…"

She stood up, and looked over at the fountain. As if drawn to her, Georges did the same unconsciously.

"Instead of being angry or mournful, I just want to spend the rest of my days thinking that at least my children had a happy life. And what you just told me about Giselle... that was what I'd hoped hearing for the last seven years."

Margot once again turned towards him... and tenderly, she cupped his cheek in her hand; her smile wide and fond.

"So thank you."

Georges was pretty sure he was going to cry now; but for some odd reason, no tears actually came. He didn't know what kind of expression he had at this moment, but Margot stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down into a hug.

So he gently returned her embrace in silence.

* * *

When he came back home at the Bollinger house, it was late in the afternoon. The sky was just as gray as it had been when he had left; yet there was still no rain. After their weird awkward hug, Georges had escorted Margot back to her home. The woman kept talking about her girls, and she also asked some questions about Michel — Georges assumed she was very curious about what kind of man her youngest child had fallen in love with.

He got another glare from Clémence before leaving, but they didn't exchange any words. She was still very clearly defensive towards him, though Georges didn't blame her at all. He supposed Margot was going to relate to her what he had just told her, and he hoped this would at least bring her some closure. The old woman also insisted for him to come back visit them sometimes. Georges didn't know if he would — but a part of him had already decided he'd try to help them out a bit by giving them some money. He was pretty sure Clémence was going to refuse any money coming from the Bollingers, but he still felt the need to do something for them, or at least try to.

Upon entering his house, he was greeted by a few servants, but saw no traces of his wife or his sons. He had no idea where Aimée could be at this hour, but his kids were probably in their rooms — or at least Dieudonné was. And sure enough, the boy was there, crouched down on the floor with a myriad of colorful paint cans all around him.

"Oh, Dad! Welcome back!"

As soon as he saw his father, Dieudonné smiled and run up to him.

"Where were you?" The teenager continued. "You suddenly disappeared without telling anyone. I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to you!"

Georges grinned and ruffled his boy's hair. "Sorry about that, buddy. I'm fine, I was just out in town. Are you alone here? Where's Sév?"

"With Mother. As usual," Dieudonné said, shrugging.

"I see..."

It was pretty normal for Sév to rotated around his mother lately, so it wasn't surprising at all. But for some reason, this time that worried Georges a bit — though he quickly dismissed these thoughts.

His mind was full of way too many things to concern himself about this for now. He couldn't stop thinking about his brothers, about his parents, about all the mistakes he had made, about this maid he had never met and who he didn't even know the appearance of, about Clémence's bitter glare and Margot's sad, gentle words.

"Dad? Are you okay?"

Dieudonné softly tugged at his sleeve, tilting his head curiously. Georges looked at him. The tiny human being he had raised himself.

And then, just like Margot had done earlier, he wrapped his arms around his kid and hugged him tightly.

"Wow! Hey, what are you doing, Dad?"

The boy seemed startled at first, and tried to get himself out of the embrace. Dieudonné wasn't as repulsed by physical affection as Sév was, but he still was very much a teenage boy and thus was often embarrassed when Georges did things like that. However, he stopped struggling when he noticed his father's shoulders were shaking slightly.

"Dad...? Are you... Are you crying?"

Georges didn't answer anything — instead he just burried his head further in his son's neck. The tears that had threatened to roll during the entire afternoon finally escaped him now. His thoughts went to Michel. To Dee. To the two women he had just met today.

Then an odd thought crossed his mind. What would have happened if, back then, he had learned his mother's intention to kill Michel and had managed to stop Dee? If Michel had came back home with Giselle like intended?

He could have met her in person, he thought. Michel could have met his nephews. He could have married the woman he loved. That meant Georges could have met Clémence and Margot in actual happy circumstances. All of them could have been a family.

Or maybe things wouldn't have gone as well as this. Maybe there would have been other obstacles on the way.

But Georges would never knew, because his brother had died in that mansion and couldn't come back to life. Because his stupid mistakes had also indirectly caused the pain of an entire other family. Because there was no way to go back in time and fix this, because there was even no way for him to just apologize.

Because he had no other choice than to bear the weight of his own sins for the rest of his life.


End file.
